Chapter 21

Chapter 21

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Demaris sank into his plush couch, relishing the idea of a full day devoted to nothing but rest. Summer break had arrived, and with it came the promise of leisurely days ahead. His schedule had been jam-packed lately, but today, he decided, would be reserved for some much-needed relaxation—perhaps catching up on the latest TV shows that had piled up on his watchlist.

Just as he was about to dive into a world of fictional drama, Sorceress materialized on his coffee table, her holographic form shimmering into existence. Her virtual visage had recently been updated to reflect her newly chosen appearance. "Demaris, we've got a situation," she said, her voice tinged with urgency. "I've just received the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban and is reportedly headed to Hogwarts with the intent to kill Harriette Potter."

Demaris let out a heavy sigh, his plans for a lazy day vanishing in an instant. "Of course. Well, no point in chasing ghosts. If he's headed for Hogwarts, then that's where we'll intercept him," he mused, rubbing his temples as if to dispel the sudden tension that had enveloped him.

"Could you bring me some parchment and a quill? I need to write two letters—one to Hogwarts informing them of my impending visit and another to Ilvermorney."

Sorceress's form flickered briefly as she executed the command, materializing a scroll of parchment and an elegant quill before him. Demaris picked up the quill, its feathered end perfectly balanced, and began to pen his letters with meticulous care. While he was disheartened at the prospect of his peaceful day being disrupted, the gravity of the situation left him no choice. If Sirius Black was on the move, then so was he. And so, putting his leisurely plans on an indefinite hold, Demaris began to draft the words that would mark the beginning of yet another unforeseen adventure.

After carefully crafting his letters, Demaris folded them neatly and sealed them with a touch of magic. With a slight sense of urgency in his steps, he made his way to the nearest owl waystation, a concealed sanctuary in the midst of the bustling city. Known only to those within the magical community, it served as a post office of sorts for urgent magical correspondence. The atmosphere was suffused with the flutter of feathers and the soft hoots of various owls, patiently awaiting their next assignments.

Handing his letters to an ancient-looking, gray-feathered owl, Demaris could only hope for prompt replies. He imbued a subtle enchantment into the parchment, ensuring the letters would reach their recipients swiftly and securely. With a powerful thrust of its wings, the owl took to the sky, vanishing into the clouds.

By the time the afternoon light filtered through his living room, casting elongated shadows on the floor, Demaris received his responses. The first was from Ilvermorny, expressing their deep regret over his decision to withdraw from the school. Although tinged with a sense of loss, the tone was respectful and understanding.

The second letter, graced with the elegant handwriting of Headmaster Dumbledore, practically radiated enthusiasm. It seemed Dumbledore was quite thrilled at the prospect of having an accomplished young wizard such as Demaris complete his N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts. The letter promised to send along another parchment listing the necessary school supplies for his upcoming term. Intriguingly, it also mentioned that upon his arrival, Demaris would be sorted along with the first-year students for the new school term.

Demaris then quickly made his way over to MACUSA to ensure his trip to Hogwarts followed all the proper channels to satisfy anyone curious enough to look into him.

Knowing he had a significant update to share with Sarah Kinney and her daughter Laura, Demaris felt a particular weight of responsibility. Their apartment, located just across the hall from his, had become a haven for them—a spot where they could at least pretend normalcy existed. Over the past year, they had formed a curious but tight-knit familial unit, supported by shared experiences and common threats.

However, despite their domestic comforts, the shadow of Hydra loomed over Sarah and Laura, restricting their freedom and potential futures. Laura had been bio-engineered to become a killing machine at the scent of a specific trigger; if exposed, no amount of willpower would save her—or Hydra's intended target—from her claws.

With these thoughts weighing heavily, Demaris stepped into their sleek, modern living room, designed much like his own but infused with their personal aesthetic. Sarah was engrossed in a paper, likely something related to advanced genomics. Across the room, Laura unleashed a torrent of jabs and kicks against a punching bag, her eyes filled with a fierce concentration.

Noticing his entrance, Sarah set down her research and Laura paused her workout. "Hey, Demaris," Sarah greeted, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You have the look of someone bearing news. What's up?"

"Indeed, I have some important updates," Demaris said, sitting down. "I've opted to pursue my final stages of magical education at Hogwarts. Despite being thirteen physically, I'm ready for N.E.W.T.-level courses. With my experience, I should complete them in less than a year."

Laura's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Hogwarts? Can I come with you?"

While Demaris was tempted to include her, he knew better. "Laura, I'd love to have you, but it's not a good idea right now. It's still risky, especially with the recent news about Sirius Black."

Laura's face fell, but Sarah nodded, understanding the magnitude of his decision. "We'll miss you, but it sounds like an incredible opportunity, Demaris."

He sighed, acutely feeling the conundrum of his multiple lives—each with its own set of responsibilities. "I'll miss you both immensely, but this is something I have to do. Besides, I'll be scouring magical and non-magical avenues to find a way to neutralize the threats Hydra poses to you both."

The air in the room grew heavy with the realization that their paths were branching in different directions, each fraught with its own perils. Yet there was also the glimmer of hope that they might one day reconvene, free from the burdens that currently shackled them.

With final farewells and promises to stay in touch, Demaris exited Sarah and Laura's apartment. The emotional weight of the parting settled briefly in his mind, but he couldn't dwell on it; another world and another journey beckoned.

Later that evening, Demaris stood alone in a dimly-lit, hidden alcove of a specialized magical shop in New York. He was carrying very little—no bags or obvious equipment. All he needed was safely stored in his personal storage dimension, accessible with a mere thought. His Advanced Casting Device (ACD) was subtly affixed to the back of his neck, almost indistinguishable from a mole or a small tattoo. On the right side of his torso was holstered his Intermediate Casting Device (ICD), and his Simple Casting Device (SCD) hung on his hip like a casual accessory.

In his hand, he held a tarnished antique pocket watch—an international portkey. "Ready or not, Hogwarts," he thought, the rush of adrenaline spiking his already heightened senses.

As the watch vibrated, space-time seemed to fold around him in disorienting waves. Even for someone as well-traveled as Demaris, portkeys never offered a comfortable ride. In mere moments, he found himself staggering slightly onto a cobblestone alley, now in the heart of London.

The English dusk greeted him, the sky an abstract painting of deep blues and dusky oranges. He could sense the change in the air—wet, heavy, laced with the rich aroma of ancient stone and centuries-old magic. This was a city that had its roots deep into the magical world, its veins pulsing with enchantment.

Demaris felt both anticipation and a kind of temporal nostalgia—a place like Hogwarts would offer a mix of age-old wisdom and youthful exploration. It was a reflection of his own complex existence; a man in a thirteen-year-old's body, with a mind sharpened by over seventy years of experience.

Taking a deep breath, Demaris stepped out onto the main road, merging effortlessly with the bustling crowd of Londoners who navigated the twilight streets. Each step seemed to carry him closer to a new chapter in his life, and the energy of the city itself seemed to reverberate with the drumming of his own pulse. His magical devices were discreetly hidden, but they were ever at the ready, silently pulsing with arcane power that only he could sense.

Diagon Alley was his next destination—a hub of magical activity he had heard of but never visited. Following the whispered directions of Sorceress, his advanced AI, he navigated through the maze of London streets. The cobblestones beneath his feet gave way to more arcane territory as he drew closer. It wasn't long before he found himself in front of the Leaky Cauldron, a nondescript, dingy little pub that many would pass without a second glance. But Demaris knew better; it was an ancient gateway between the magical and non-magical worlds.

As he pushed open the battered door, the atmosphere inside greeted him like an old parchment book—dusty, mysterious, and impossibly inviting. The noise of chatting wizards filled the air, a cacophony that seemed to be its own magical language. A motley crew of magical folk populated the dark, wooden tables: wizened wizards in moth-eaten robes, witches whose hats seemed to be artifacts of extraordinary spells, and even a goblin or two, hunched over their drinks.

No one seemed to pay him any particular attention. In this realm, age was but a number, and even the youngest could carry spells and secrets that belied their appearance. Demaris fit right in, a prodigy in a world that could measure wisdom not just in years but in lifetimes.

He walked up to the bar, where a gruff barman eyed him with a blend of curiosity and professional detachment. "A butterbeer, please," Demaris said, realizing that even in new surroundings, some things were universal. The barman nodded, filling a mug with the frothy, golden liquid and sliding it across the counter to him.

As Demaris took his first sip, relishing the sweet, warming taste of the beverage, his thoughts wandered briefly to his upcoming sojourn at Hogwarts. It was a journey teeming with possibilities, but before he could move forward, he had to handle the matters at hand—starting with a shopping spree in the most magical marketplace in the world.

Taking a final sip of his butterbeer, Demaris caught the eye of Tom, the innkeeper. A man of few words, Tom had seen generations of young wizards pass through his doors on their way to Hogwarts. Demaris approached the counter, his gaze meeting Tom's discerning eyes.

"I'd like to book a room for the night," Demaris said.

Tom nodded, flipping open an old, worn ledger and guiding a quill to scratch out the next available room. "Room 7," he said, handing Demaris a tarnished brass key.

"Thank you," Demaris responded, pocketing the key. He had much to do before settling down for the evening. Though he'd already achieved his OWLs and was working at an accelerated pace toward his NEWTs, his curriculum at Ilvermorny hadn't required the specific texts and potion ingredients listed by Hogwarts.

Glancing around the pub one last time, Demaris headed towards the hidden archway that led to Diagon Alley. As he stepped through, he was greeted by the vibrant chaos of the magical marketplace. A cacophony of voices, the hiss of potion cauldrons, and the vivid colors of shop displays filled the air. This place was a cornucopia of magical objects and substances, some of which even he hadn't encountered yet.

Though it was tempting to explore each and every shop, Demaris had a targeted list. He needed NEWT-level books and specialized potion ingredients that his current collection lacked. With Sorceress, his advanced AI,, Demaris efficiently navigated through Flourish and Blotts, picking up the necessary texts. Next, he headed to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, where he acquired rare potion ingredients that would be crucial for his advanced studies.

As he made his purchases, Demaris pondered over the exciting and challenging year that lay ahead. His plans, however, weren't limited to academics; there was a growing darkness that loomed over both the magical and non-magical worlds, and he knew he'd find himself in the thick of it.

Eventually, his errands completed, Demaris made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, his arms laden with parcels but his steps light. He had every intention of sinking into the comforts of Room 7 and perhaps spending the evening engrossed in one of his newly purchased texts.

Unlocking the door to his temporary abode and closing the door behind him, Demaris set his parcels on a nearby table and took a moment to appreciate the quaint simplicity of Room 7. A flick of his wrist, and the packages began to unpack themselves, their contents floating into the air and neatly organizing on the table. Another flick, and the chosen NEWT-level textbook floated over to him, the rest into his dimensional storage.

"Bookmark this for later, Sorceress," he instructed, and a digital marker appeared in the book, courtesy of his AI's augmented reality capabilities.

"Of course, Demaris," Sorceress replied in her calming voice, making the necessary annotations.

With a sigh, Demaris sat on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes. He could feel the fibers of the blanket respond to his magical aura, adjusting their temperature for optimal comfort. It was a small but significant reminder of how deeply magic was woven into the very fabric of this world, even in the most mundane objects. A world that now, more than ever, needed its guardians.

Lying back, he sank into the pillows, their softness enveloping him like a cocoon. His thoughts began to drift as he let go of the stresses and plans that had occupied his mind. For now, sleep was his ally, rejuvenating him for the challenges that lay ahead.

"Goodnight, Sorceress," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Demaris. Sleep well."

As he closed his eyes, the candles lighting the room automatically went out, and a serene darkness filled the room. In that moment, the weight of his responsibilities, the mysteries of his advanced studies, and even the impending confrontations with dark forces all seemed to fade away. Replaced, for now, by the simple, timeless act of falling asleep.

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The sun's early rays filtered through the room's windowpanes, casting a soft golden glow over the furniture. From outside his door, the clamor of voices and hurried footsteps began to invade the room's tranquility.

"Keep that bloody cat away from my Scabbers!" a boy's voice reverberated down the hallway, the Doppler effect evident as he presumably sprinted by.

A second, exasperated voice followed. "Ron, he's a cat. It's his nature. He doesn't hold a personal vendetta against your rat."

Demaris groaned softly, a sign that his slumber was officially disrupted. Sluggishly rolling out of bed, he reached for his casting devices. With a quick series of gestures, they attached themselves—his Advanced Casting Device settling at the back of his neck, Intermediate Casting Device holstered to his right torso, and the Simple Casting Device finding its place on his hip.

As he changed into his no-maj outfit—a simple T-shirt and jeans—Demaris paused. He'd neglected his morning workout, a part of his daily ritual to maintain both physical and magical stamina. He shrugged it off. "I'll catch up tomorrow," he mumbled to himself, rationalizing the lapse in routine. Today, he had other matters to attend to.

"Ready for the day, Sorceress?" Demaris addressed his AI companion as he stepped toward the door.

"Always," Sorceress' holographic form flickered to life, "though I do recommend we find a way to make up for the missed training session."

"I will, but right now, I've got other fish to fry," Demaris assured her as he stepped out of the room. The hallway was quiet now; the commotion had evidently moved elsewhere.

Walking down the corridor, Demaris couldn't help but ponder what the day would bring. The Leaky Cauldron was usually a peaceful establishment, but the little episode he'd just heard reminded him of the underlying tensions of the magical world—a world that had its share of animosities, even among its youngest members.

Demaris comes to the top of the stairs leading down to the pub. At the top is a young woman with Black hair to her shoulders, Big round glasses and a prominent lightning bolt shape scar on her forehead.

"Its Harriette!" the same voice that was shouting rings again through the air of the pub, "Come on down and join us for breakfast."

A smile appears on Harriette's face and she exclaims, "Ron, Hermione!"

Demaris reaches the top of the stairs, pausing momentarily as he glimpses a figure in the landing below. A young woman stands there, her black hair falling to her shoulders. She wears oversized, round glasses, and most distinctively, a lightning bolt-shaped scar graces her forehead.

Before Demaris can ponder the sight further, the voice he had heard earlier cuts through the air of the pub once more. "It's Harriette!" the voice calls out exuberantly, this time tinged with delight rather than annoyance.

A warm smile spreads across Harriette's face at the sound. "Ron! Hermione!" she exclaims, her voice carrying a note of genuine affection and relief, as if their presence is a balm to whatever worries might be occupying her mind.

For a split second, their eyes meet—Harriette's and Demaris's—and there's a moment of unspoken recognition. Not of acquaintance, but of kindred spirit. It's brief, but it's there, a flash of shared understanding between two young people who've both carried more burdens than most their age.

As Harriette descends the stairs to reunite with her friends, Demaris can't help but wonder about the connections unfolding before him. The pub suddenly feels like a nexus, a crossroads of destinies and paths that might be more intertwined than he initially thought.

It reminds him that in a world replete with magic and danger, alliances can be as crucial as any spell. And as he continues his descent to join the other patrons, perhaps for a spot of breakfast himself, Demaris muses on the unfolding tapestry of relationships and rivalries that seem to be part and parcel of the magical world he's now stepping into.

Demaris nods to himself, both excited and wary of what the day will bring, knowing that each interaction might be more significant than it appears.

The bustling crowd in the pub grows even more animated as a troop of redheads enter the room. Their loud banter and unmistakable shock of auburn hair instantly identify them as related to the young man named Ron. Demaris watches as they each take a moment to greet Harriette, who seems to be an honorary member of their family. The patriarch of the clan, Arthur, exchanges a few words with his brood before guiding Harriette to a more secluded corner. Coincidentally, their chosen spot is right behind a pillar near where Demaris is sitting, his full English breakfast momentarily forgotten as he inadvertently overhears their conversation.

Arthur's tone turns serious as he leans in close to Harriette, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban," he confides, his gaze locked onto Harriette's. "He was You-Know-Who's right-hand man. With his master gone, it's reasonable to think he may try to seek revenge... against you."

Harriette stiffens noticeably, her eyes widening behind her glasses. "Why are you telling me this here, Mr. Weasley?" she whispers, scanning the room as if expecting the escaped convict to appear right there in the pub.

"Because," Arthur continues, equally sotto voce, "I trust you, Harriette, and I need you to promise me something: that you won't go seeking him out, no matter what you hear or think you know. The Ministry will handle this; we have to let them. Promise me you won't go after him."

Demaris can sense the conflict raging in Harriette as she contemplates Arthur's plea. It's a hard promise to make for someone clearly used to taking matters into her own hands, for someone who has faced life-threatening dangers before. But she finally nods, her face solemn. "I promise, Mr. Weasley," she says, though her eyes betray a deep sense of unease.

Arthur pats her on the shoulder, relieved yet still anxious. "Good, good," he murmurs before turning back to rejoin his family, who are clamoring for his attention.

Sitting there, Demaris can't help but feel a pang of skepticism. Sirius Black, a devoted follower of Voldemort? He recalls what he knows of the wizarding world's history, his brows knitting together. Such allegiances are often more complicated than they seem.

As he resumes his breakfast, Demaris ponders the intricate web of danger, loyalties, and secrets that seems to shroud Harriette Potter. How much will his path intertwine with hers in the upcoming months at Hogwarts?

Harriette begins to make her way back to the large table full of Weasleys, her eyes scanning the room as if reassessing her environment in the wake of her conversation with Arthur. Her gaze pauses when it falls on Demaris, a curious mix of concern and intrigue crossing her features. She approaches him, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

"Excuse me, did you happen to overhear the conversation I just had?" she asks, her tone cautious yet polite.

Feigning ignorance, Demaris shakes his head. "No, I was focused on my breakfast," he replies, offering a reassuring smile.

Relieved, Harriette extends a hand. "I'm Harriette Potter. Nice to meet you."

"Demaris," he responds, taking her hand and giving it a light shake. "It's a pleasure."

She looks him over, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. "You don't sound like you're from around here. American, right?"

"Very observant," Demaris smiles. "Yes, I'm from the States."

"What brings you to the UK?" Harriette asks, clearly intrigued.

"I'm here to complete my NEWTs at Hogwarts," he explains.

Her eyes widen in genuine surprise. "NEWTs? But you look—you don't look old enough for NEWTs," she stammers, clearly taken aback.

"I may be physically young, but let's just say I've had some advanced studies," Demaris replies, leaving out the specifics.

Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of awe and curiosity. "Well, Hogwarts is never short on surprises. You'll fit right in."

"I hope so," Demaris says, contemplating the web of intricacies and revelations that seem to be a part of life at Hogwarts, and now, Harriette Potter's life.

"See you on the Hogwarts Express, then?" Harriette offers, as if extending an invitation into her world.

"Absolutely," Demaris agrees. "See you there."

As Harriette heads back to her table, her face flush with the excitement of making a new, intriguing acquaintance, Demaris can't help but ponder how much more intricate this academic year promises to be. And in that moment, amid all the uncertainties, he's confident of one thing: Hogwarts will be anything but dull.

Finishing his meal, Demaris sets out to buy some books for light reading.

The cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley are bustling with activity, as witches and wizards of all ages prepare for the upcoming school term. Demaris, his eyes keen and focused, steps into Flourish and Blotts. The smell of parchment and ink fills the air, comforting in its familiarity yet exotic in its Old World charm. He navigates through the maze of bookshelves, pulling out texts he needs for his NEWTs.

"Demaris?" a voice calls out from behind him.

Turning, he sees a girl standing there with a stack of books in her arms, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. "You must be new here, I don't recognize you. Are you joining Hogwarts this term?"

"Guilty," Demaris replies with a smile. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Demaris, from the States."

The girl brightens. "Oh, that's fascinating! I'm Hermione Granger. What brings you to the UK?"

"To complete my NEWTs at Hogwarts," Demaris answers.

She beams at this revelation. "Wonderful! I'm always eager to meet serious students." Her eyes catch the title of a book in his hands, and her smile fades into an expression of concern. "That's a controversial text you're holding. Many consider it a Dark Arts book."

Demaris looks at the book, then back at Hermione. "Who decides what's dark and what's light? Magic, in my view, is neither good nor evil; it's how you use it. Understanding something often considered 'dark' may enable us to defend ourselves against it."

Hermione eyes him skeptically, chewing on her lower lip in a gesture of clear uncertainty. "That's a nuanced perspective. Still, one must be careful not to get lost in the allure of power. It can corrupt."

"True, but ignorance can be equally dangerous," Demaris counters, locking eyes with her.

For a moment, Hermione seems to contemplate his words, the gears clearly turning in her analytical mind. Finally, she nods. "I suppose that's fair. But tread carefully, Demaris. Hogwarts has its own set of challenges."

"As does every place," Demaris responds, placing the controversial book into his basket. "But I like a good challenge."

Hermione gives him a half-smile, still tinged with caution but somewhat warmer than before. "I'll see you on the train, then."

"Absolutely," Demaris agrees, offering a parting smile before they each go their separate ways, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken realization that the upcoming year will be filled with far more than academic challenges.

The following morning arrives with a tinge of excitement in the air. With his newly purchased books stored safely in his personal dimension, Demaris makes his way to King's Cross Station. The atmosphere is filled with the clamor of eager students and their families, but most haven't discovered the magical platform just yet. Taking a deep breath, he strides confidently toward the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

As if guided by invisible hands, he seamlessly merges through the solid wall and finds himself on Platform 9¾. A gleaming scarlet steam engine stands proudly on the tracks, belching white plumes of smoke as it prepares for its journey to Hogwarts. Demaris boards the Hogwarts Express, finding it nearly empty given his early arrival.

Selecting a cabin situated comfortably in the middle of the train, he settles in, pulling out one of his books and immersing himself in its contents. Just as he reaches an intriguing passage, the door to his cabin slides open.

Standing in the doorway are Harriette Potter and two other teens—one a boy with untamed red hair and the other a girl who can only be the Hermione he'd met the day before. Their eyes lock for a moment, surprise flashing briefly across Harriette's face.

"Ah, it's you—Demaris, isn't it? Do you mind if we join you?" she asks, her voice laced with curiosity and a touch of warmth.

"Not at all," Demaris says, gesturing for them to come in as he marks his page and closes his book. "I'd be glad for the company."

The trio files in, filling the small compartment with a sudden burst of lively energy. The redhead takes the seat across from Demaris, while Hermione and Harriette sit side by side, facing each other.

"Demaris, meet my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," Harriette says by way of introduction, her eyes twinkling as if privy to some delightful secret. "Guys, this is Demaris. He's from the States and will be joining us at Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs."

"Nice to meet you," Ron says, extending a hand.

Hermione offers a courteous nod, her eyes momentarily meeting Demaris' with a cautious yet respectful glint, recalling their conversation from the day before.

Demaris shakes Ron's hand and nods back at Hermione. "Nice to meet you both. I hope we'll have an interesting year ahead."

"Interesting is one way to put it," Ron mutters, casting a sidelong glance at Harriette, who rolls her eyes playfully.

Hermione's eyes narrow slightly, her natural curiosity getting the better of her. "You're working on your NEWTs? But you're...," she glances at Demaris, hesitating before asking, "How did you manage that?"

"I've already taken and passed my OWLs," Demaris replies calmly. "Education in the magical world isn't always the same everywhere, and let's just say I've had some unique opportunities for accelerated learning."

This seems to intrigue Hermione, the resident bookworm, even more, but before she can delve further into this subject, Demaris changes the topic.

"Since I'm new to Hogwarts, could any of you give me a rundown of what to expect? What are the professors like?"

Harriette exchanges a look with Ron and Hermione before chuckling. "Well, where do we start? First, you should know about Professor McGonagall. She's the head of Gryffindor House and teaches Transfiguration. She's strict but fair, and probably one of the best teachers at Hogwarts."

Ron chimes in, "Then there's Professor Snape, the Potions Master. He's head of Slytherin House and, well, not the most pleasant person you'll meet."

"He's got a particular dislike for Gryffindors," Hermione adds. "And especially for Harriette."

Demaris arches an eyebrow. "Noted. Anyone else I should be aware of?"

"Ah, Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, is starting as a teacher this year. He'll be teaching Care of Magical Creatures," Harriette says, her eyes sparkling at the mention of Hagrid's name. "He's a bit unconventional, but you can't find a kinder soul."

"We haven't had a class with him yet, but knowing Hagrid, it will definitely be interesting," Ron adds, a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes.

The group laughs, and for a moment, the cabin fills with the easy camaraderie of friends sharing insider knowledge.

"Thank you, this is all really helpful," Demaris says. "It sounds like Hogwarts is a place filled with unique individuals."

"You could say that," Hermione agrees, her eyes meeting Demaris' with a newfound sense of understanding. "And if you're joining us, I suspect it's about to get even more unique."

Hermione's curiosity doesn't seem to wane. "But why Hogwarts for your NEWTs? Isn't Ilvermorny known for its rigorous academic programs as well?"

Demaris gives a slight shrug, maintaining his composure. "Ilvermorny is excellent, no doubt, but sometimes you want a change of scenery, you know? Studying abroad has its perks."

Before Hermione can probe further, the door to their cabin swings open. A tall, lanky man with a mustache stands at the threshold. "Ah, apologies for the intrusion. I'm Professor Mooney, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Just finished with a meeting with the prefects and it seems all the cabins are full."

"Please, have a seat, Professor," Harriette offers, gesturing to the empty space next to Ron.

"Much appreciated," Professor Mooney says, sliding into the seat. He leans back and wraps himself in his cloak as if it's a comforter. "Long day, long day indeed."

Within moments, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor appears to have drifted off to sleep, his breathing even and deep.

The cabin falls silent for a moment, each of them exchanging puzzled glances.

"Already seems less dangerous than last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Ron whispers, eliciting a stifled giggle from Hermione and a grin from Harriette.

"Yeah, less dangerous for us maybe," Harriette replies, "but who knows what kinds of dark creatures he turns into, being named Mooney and all."

Ron shivers dramatically. "Now you're making it sound like one of Dad's bedtime stories."

Demaris smiles, intrigued by this quick glimpse into the dynamics of Harriette's circle of friends.

The rain outside begins to patter against the windows, creating a calming backdrop to the group's conversation. Demaris raises his wand subtly, whispering an incantation under his breath. Almost instantly, the cabin grows noticeably warmer.

Hermione's eyes widen, and she turns toward Demaris, seemingly ready to burst. "You just performed magic outside of school!"

Demaris chuckles, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Technically, yes, but I've completed my OWLs, which makes me a legal adult in the wizarding world. Different rules apply."

Before anyone can respond, a sudden jolt rocks the train, causing everyone to grab onto their seats. The wheels screech against the tracks as the train comes to an abrupt halt. They hear the clatter of hailstones against the glass, and frost starts to creep across the windows, spreading in spidery patterns that obscure their view of the outside world.

The previously warm atmosphere of the cabin turns icy cold, causing each of them to shiver involuntarily. Even Professor Mooney stirs in his sleep but doesn't wake up.

"What's happening?" Ron asks, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Demaris leans forward to get a better look at the frozen window, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't natural. The frost, the sudden stop—something's interfering with the train."

A sense of dread fills the air, more palpable than before. A ghastly, necrotic hand manifests at the window of their cabin door, pushing it open with a chilling creak. A Dementor glides in, its very presence sucking the warmth and happiness out of the room.

As soon as the creature enters, Harriette collapses, unconscious, her face a mask of sheer terror. Without a moment's hesitation, Demaris raises his wand, his focus absolute despite the oppressive atmosphere.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A burst of light erupts from his wand, taking the form of a West Highland Terrier. The luminescent canine leaps forward, chasing the Dementor with a fierce determination. Within moments, the creature is forced out of the cabin, and the Patronus continues its pursuit until the Dementor is completely out of the train.

The temperature in the cabin slowly returns to normal, and the sense of dread dissipates. Ron and Hermione, who had been frozen in terror during the incident, now look at Demaris with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

Demaris moves quickly to check on Harriette, waving his wand to perform a basic diagnostic charm. "She's unconscious but stable. The Dementor's effects should wear off soon."

Hermione exhales deeply, her eyes still wide. "That was incredible, Demaris. I've only read about the Patronus Charm; it's advanced magic!"

Ron nods in agreement, "Yeah, you saved us. Thanks, mate."

Demaris merely nods, his eyes still on the corridor where the Dementor had appeared. "We're not out of the woods yet. There might be more of them. I suggest we stay vigilant until we reach Hogwarts."

Professor Mooney, who had been seemingly wrapped up in his cloak and asleep, unfurls himself and stands up. His eyes meet Demaris's. "Impressive, very impressive indeed. A corporeal Patronus is no small feat. You've got some advanced skills there."

"Thank you, Professor," Demaris replies, a bit surprised that the professor had been awake the entire time. "I had good teachers."

"Clearly," Mooney nods. "I'm going to have a chat with the conductor about this situation. It's highly unusual for Dementors to board the Hogwarts Express. They shouldn't even be here in the first place."

Before he leaves, he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a bar of chocolate, which he hands to Harriette as she stirs, waking up with a confused look on her face. "Eat this, it'll help you recover," Mooney advises.

"Thank you," Harriette murmurs, still disoriented but grateful as she takes a bite.

As Professor Mooney steps out of the compartment, the door sliding shut behind him, Ron and Hermione exchange worried glances, but it's Harriette who breaks the silence.

"What just happened? One moment everything was fine, and then—"

"You fainted when the Dementor entered our cabin," Hermione explains. "But Demaris drove it away with his Patronus."

Harriette looks at Demaris, her eyes widening in realization and appreciation. "Thank you, Demaris. That must have been some Patronus."

"It was necessary," Demaris says modestly. "Dementors are dangerous; they have no place on a school train."

As Harriette nibbles more of the chocolate, her color slowly returning, Demaris wonders what other surprises the school year might have in store for them. Between the ominous news about Sirius Black and now the appearance of Dementors on the Hogwarts Express, his decision to attend Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs was looking more eventful by the minute.

"But seriously," Ron pipes up, curiosity overtaking him, "a West Highland Terrier? That's your Patronus?"

Demaris chuckles, "Even the smallest can hold great courage, Ron."

The train shudders back to life, resuming its journey through the rainy countryside. The atmosphere in the compartment is a mix of relief and lingering tension.

Hermione, clearly unable to suppress her curiosity, turns to Demaris once more. "So, you never really explained why you left Ilvermorney to take your NEWTs here. It's just a bit unusual, don't you think?"

Before Demaris can respond, Harriette interjects, "Hermione, don't you think you're being a bit rude? He's a guest here."

But Demaris just laughs it off, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. Hermione's inquisitiveness is a trait to be admired, although sometimes it might be too much. I'll tell you this much: I left Ilvermorney because I was betrayed. Someone there sold me out. I was captured and, well, let's just say I had a rough time until I managed to escape. I'd rather not go into details."

A heavy silence fills the room. Harriette glares at Hermione, who looks genuinely remorseful for having pried.

"I'm sorry, Demaris. I shouldn't have pressed," Hermione finally says, her voice filled with genuine regret.

"It's okay," Demaris assures her. "I've found that the past is both an anchor and a lesson. You can either let it weigh you down, or you can learn from it and move on. I choose the latter."

Harriette seems deeply affected by his words, her eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and admiration. "That's incredibly brave of you," she says softly.

Demaris shrugs, not wanting to make a big deal of it. "Bravery is often a byproduct of having no other choice."

The conversation takes a more subdued turn after that, and for the remainder of the trip, the group discusses less serious subjects, such as their favorite courses and what they're looking forward to in the upcoming school year.

Yet even as they engage in lighter chatter, each of them is acutely aware that the presence of the Dementor on the train, coupled with the news of Sirius Black's escape, has cast a pall over their journey to Hogwarts. Despite their laughter and smiles, they are all left wondering what other shadows might be lurking around the corners of the castle they're heading toward.

As the train pulls into Hogsmeade Station with a final screech of the wheels against the rails, the atmosphere changes yet again. The murmur of excited voices fills the air as students begin to collect their bags and disembark from the train. Demaris stands up, adjusting his coat.

"It was nice meeting all of you," he says, smiling at Harriette, Ron, and Hermione. "I'll see you around Hogwarts, I'm sure."

Harriette smiles warmly. "Definitely, and maybe we'll even end up in the same house."

Hermione, somewhat subdued since the last conversation, nods. "Yes, good luck with your sorting."

"Cheers," says Ron, offering a friendly grin.

Demaris nods at them and makes his way through the throng of students, all heading in various directions. He spots Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, towering over a group of nervous-looking first-years.

"O'er here, firs' years!" Hagrid bellows, waving a massive hand.

Demaris walks over and joins the group, feeling somewhat out of place given his experience and age, but maintaining a pleasant demeanor.

"Yeh must be Demaris," Hagrid says, his eyes twinkling. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned we'd be havin' a special student joinin' the firs' years. Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Demaris replies, shaking Hagrid's giant hand. "It's good to be here."

Hagrid leads them down a steep, narrow path towards the edge of a large lake. A fleet of small boats awaits them. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid announces.

Demaris boards one of the boats, sharing it with a trio of nervous first-years who glance at him curiously. As the boats start moving, propelled by some invisible force, he takes in the breathtaking view. The water of the Great Lake is calm, reflecting the twilight sky, and in the distance, the towering spires of Hogwarts Castle pierce the horizon, illuminated by the soft glow of countless windows.

The first-years around him are awestruck, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open at the sight of the castle growing ever closer. And even though Demaris has seen more than most of them could possibly imagine, he too feels a sense of awe. It's a new beginning, another chapter in a life already filled with so many.

When the boats finally reach docks, Hagrid leads them up to the castle, through giant oak doors, and into the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Hagrid beams. "The Start-of-Term Feast's about to begin, but firs', yeh'll be sorted into yer houses."

Professor McGonagall stands at the front of the Great Hall, a roll of parchment in her hands and the iconic Sorting Hat resting on a stool beside her. Her eyes scan the group of nervous first-years, finally landing on Demaris.

"Demaris, you're next," she announces, gesturing toward the stool.

He steps forward and takes a seat, feeling the eyes of the entire student body on him. The hat is lowered onto his head, and suddenly, he finds himself in a mental dialogue.

"My, my, you're a curious one, aren't you?" The Sorting Hat's voice echoes in his mind. "Such experiences, such memories—some far beyond your years."

"Please," Demaris mentally replies, "keep those to yourself. That's a part of my life I'd prefer not to broadcast."

"Very well," the Hat agrees. "So where should you go? You'd do well in Slytherin—such cunning and resourcefulness. Or perhaps Ravenclaw? Your mind is sharper than a phoenix feather quill. Then again, you've got bravery to match any Gryffindor."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to be in Gryffindor," Demaris says in his thoughts. "I feel it's where I belong right now."

The Hat seems to ponder this for a moment longer. "Very well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Professor McGonagall lifts the hat, and Demaris rises from the stool to a chorus of cheers. The loudest come from the Gryffindor table, where Harriette, Ron, and Hermione are standing and clapping enthusiastically.

"Welcome to Gryffindor!" Harriette calls out as he makes his way to the table.

Demaris smiles, taking a seat beside them. As he looks around the Great Hall—its enchanted ceiling reflecting the nighttime sky, the four House tables filled with students, the staff table at the front with its array of eccentric and distinguished teachers—he can't shake the feeling that he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

Plates and goblets magically fill themselves with food and drink, and as the Start-of-Term Feast begins, Demaris digs in.

As the feast progresses, conversation flows freely around the Gryffindor table. Students engage in the usual small talk that accompanies the beginning of a new school term. Eventually, the inquiries make their way to Demaris.

"So, where are you from?" a third-year Gryffindor asks, curiosity evident in his eyes.

"The States. I was at Ilvermorny before this," Demaris replies, taking a bite of roast chicken.

"Wow, that's a long way to come! How old are you?" a second-year chimes in.

"I'm 13," he answers, strategically avoiding any further elaboration that might reveal his unusual past.

The chatter around the table continues, but soon enough, the attention of the entire Great Hall is drawn to the staff table as Headmaster Dumbledore rises to his feet. The hall falls silent, students and staff alike waiting to hear his words.

"Ahem," Dumbledore begins, his eyes twinkling but his tone serious. "I have an important announcement to make, one that I make with a heavy heart. As some of you may already know, Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban prison. As a precaution, the Ministry of Magic has posted Dementors around the perimeter of Hogwarts."

Murmurs and gasps echo around the room. Dumbledore raises a hand for silence before continuing.

"I must stress that these Dementors are here against my wishes. They are dangerous creatures that feed on human happiness. I strongly advise all students to be extra vigilant and to avoid venturing near the edge of the grounds without proper supervision. It is for your own safety."

The room remains silent for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Dumbledore's eyes scan the student body as if personally reassuring each one before he returns to his seat.

A hush falls over the Gryffindor table. Harriette, Ron, and Hermione exchange worried glances. Demaris feels the weight of the headmaster's words, knowing that the Dementors pose a complex problem—one that is likely entangled with the mystery of Sirius Black's intentions.

After the feast, the Gryffindors make their way through the labyrinthine passages of Hogwarts to reach their common room. The portrait of the Fat Lady swings open to admit them, and they all pour in, a sea of red and gold. First years and returning students alike scatter to their respective dormitories, each excited and nervous for the year ahead.

Demaris follows Ron, Neville, and a few others up another winding staircase that leads to their dormitory. The room is comfortably furnished, with four-poster beds and a warm hearth that casts a gentle glow over the surroundings. Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean have already started unpacking their trunks, which sit at the foot of their beds.

Ron suddenly notices the absence of Demaris's trunk. "Oi, where's your stuff?" he asks, looking puzzled.

Quick to improvise, Demaris reaches into his pocket, making it appear as if he's pulling out a shrunken trunk. In reality, he's using his personal dimension to summon his prepared, shrunken trunk as a decoy. With a casual wave of his wand, the trunk enlarges to its full size, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

"I don't trust anyone but myself with my belongings," Demaris says, his voice tinged with seriousness.

Ron's face takes on a look of understanding, recalling what Demaris had mentioned earlier about being betrayed. "Fair enough," he nods. "You can't be too careful, especially with all that's going on."

Neville, who'd been listening, chimes in. "You can never be too cautious. My Gran always says—well, she says a lot of things, but being careful is definitely one of them."

Demaris smiles at his new roommates, feeling a strange but comforting sense of camaraderie. As he begins to "unpack"—carefully maintaining the illusion of removing items from his trunk—he thinks about the challenges and mysteries that lie ahead.

The room is dark and quiet when Demaris rises from his bed, taking care not to disturb his slumbering roommates. Slipping into his running gear, he sneaks out of the common room and heads for the grounds. The pre-dawn air is chilly but refreshing, and he relishes the freedom of movement as he embarks on a five-mile run around the lake.

His muscles warm, his mind alert but peaceful, Demaris finishes his run and heads back to the Gryffindor common room. As he steps through the portrait hole, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt, he spots Harriette Potter descending the stairs from her own dormitory.

Caught off guard, Harriette lets out a soft "eep" and covers her eyes. When she dares to peek again, her expression turns from surprise to one of sad concern. For the first time, she notices the scars marring Demaris's torso—evidence of a history far more painful than any thirteen-year-old should have to bear.

"Those scars... did they hurt?" Harriette finds herself asking, her voice tinged with both curiosity and compassion.

Avoiding her gaze, Demaris quickly picks up his discarded shirt and begins to put it back on. "I've got to go shower before classes," he says, dodging the question entirely.

"But—"

"See you in class, Harriette," he interrupts, offering her a tight smile before heading up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Left alone in the common room, Harriette stands there for a moment, worry clouding her features. Demaris's deflection had said more than any answer could have, and she couldn't help but wonder what trials he'd been through that had left such literal and metaphorical scars.

Upon reaching his dormitory, Demaris finds that Ron, Neville, and the other boys are still sound asleep, their breathing slow and steady in the quiet room. Taking care not to disturb them, he gathers a change of clothes and heads toward the communal showers.

The water is brisk but invigorating, washing away the sweat and fatigue and bringing with it a new sense of clarity. He takes a moment to appreciate the solitude, knowing that his life at Hogwarts is about to get much busier.

Once showered, Demaris dons the Hogwarts school uniform. The red and gold colors of Gryffindor contrast sharply with the blues and silvers he was accustomed to at Ilvermorny. It's another reminder that he's in a different world now, a place full of new challenges and opportunities. After a final check in the mirror, he feels ready to face whatever the day has in store for him.

As he makes his way back through the dormitory, he notices his roommates beginning to stir, the early morning light filtering through the curtains. He offers them a quiet nod, receiving a mixture of groggy grunts and mumbled greetings in return.

Descending the stairs to the common room, Demaris encounters a handful of other early risers—mostly older students bent over textbooks or huddled in quiet conversations. They offer polite smiles, their expressions tinged with curiosity. He's the new face, the "American transfer," and no doubt the subject of more than a few whispered speculations.

His stomach reminds him that the next order of business is breakfast. He strides through the familiar labyrinthine corridors, making his way toward the Great Hall. Upon entering, he's immediately struck by the sheer scale of the room—the enchanted ceiling mimicking the morning sky, the long, ornate tables laden with an array of breakfast foods. Taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, Demaris helps himself to a hearty plate of eggs, sausages, and toast.

As he eats, he can't help but look around, scanning the faces of his new schoolmates. Most are engaged in their own conversations, chattering away in happy anticipation of the new term.